


La Catedral de Vietnam

by missmollyetc



Series: Murphy's Crew [1]
Category: Tour of Duty (1987)
Genre: M/M, Murphy's Crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-12
Updated: 2010-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Murphy's Laws of Combat # 14</b></p><p><i>"There is no such thing as an atheist in a foxhole."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	La Catedral de Vietnam

So, really, when you think about it, God doesn't exist. 'Cause here I am, sittin' in the world's worst fuckin' foxhole with rain pourin' down on all sides of me--a fuckin' deluge spilling down on my head, rolling in through my shirt cuffs from holdin' up the M-16, and filling up the fuckin' foxhole so that my feet don't get any drier neither. The whole place, and I mean the fuckin' foxhole, the Firebase, me, fuckin' _Vietnam_ smells like something died and then got thrown in a greenhouse to bake. 'Cept you don't bake when you die, you melt.

And, see, if God exists then I wouldn't be here. I'd be dry and warm--not fuckin' covered in muck--with my ass planted in the nearest bar and a nice armful of girl--of _girl_\--attached to both sides of me. The boom-boom wouldn't be store bought, neither. American chicks are nice that way, wine 'em and dine 'em, give 'em some of the patented Taylor charm and bam! I'm in like a rocket. "How'd you like them apples?" I laugh, and now the rain's in my mouth as well.

"What?" Roo looks over at me. He tightens his hands on his rifle.

I swallow the rainwater. "Nothin.'"

"Fuckin' crazy ass puta... " Roo mumbles, trailing off, and settles back against his side of the foxhole. His feet slosh on the ground.

And that's another thing. If there was a God up there who actually gave a fuck about the shit went on down in the 'Nam, I would not be sitting next to Alberto Ruiz, that's for damn certain. Hell no, I wouldn't. I'd be up in the bars, eyein' the girlies and making sure I keep every little bit of me as far from Roo as I can get, wandering hands and all. My wandering hands. Isn't my fault though--not Roo's fault either--a man gets lonely out in the bush.

See, a man gets tired of his right fuckin' hand. A man gets tired of his left hand pretty fuckin' fast too, and one night there's Roo with his dark eyes and that fuckin' smile like a knife. And Lord Almighty there's me, all of a sudden wantin' to reach out and touch that smile, see if it cuts me. Maybe even get to find out if he wouldn't kill me for touching. Shit.

So there isn't a God because, if there was, Roo wouldn't share my fuckin' foxhole in the motherfuckin' rain with fuckin' raindrops sliding down his face. If there was a God, I wouldn't be hugging the damn gun so I don't put a fuckin' toe near Roo. Hell fuckin' no an' so there isn't a God and--

BOOM!

"Mierda!" Ruiz yells, and suddenly I'm face to shoulder with him as we both try to hug the ground.

The sky lights up like a fuckin' parade, flashing white lights, and the smell of smoke. Charlie's come for a bedcheck, and the ground shakes with impact.

"Incoming!" I yell, and make to get up, throwing Roo off me. Roo grabs my arm and pulls me down to my knees.

"Who the fuck cares?! Stay the fuck _down_, dumbass."

"I know that, you stupid fucker! I'm just--"

A spray of mud shoots up over the top of the foxhole and rains down on us. I grab Roo's arms, and we both duck our heads.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I chant. Fuckin' foxhole, fuckin' 'Nam, fuckin'...everything. I tighten my fingers in Roo's poncho and move closer. Screw it, screw it, I'm gonna fuckin' die anyway and nobody's who they were back in the World and--and no one's gonna know and...Roo's talking, mumbling to himself as blast after blast rains down on our position. I scoot closer on my knees, my nose practically in his fuckin' neck. He smells like mud, and he smells like fear, and it's horrible, and I can't get close enough. I can hear him talking, but I can't...I don't understand what he's saying until something--the rhythm maybe--clicks, and then I do.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Christ..." he says.

Roo has his eyes closed, screwed up real tight, and his hands on my knees, then my hips, jerkin' at my belt loops.

"Roo? Ruiz?"

He shakes his head, keeps saying the Hail Mary.

I rest my head on his shoulder, and let him talk for both of us.

**Author's Note:**

> Tour of Duty belongs to others. Because of that, I promise to tread lightly with their production values.


End file.
